Womb of Sky and Skin
by misscam
Summary: “Death leaves a mark. It kills you even if you don’t die.” Nick has survived. But can he live? [PostGrave Danger. Slight implied GSR, CWR, NickGreg. Maybe.]


Womb of Sky and Skin  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: CBS own the characters. I borrow for my own enjoyment and not for any profit. 

Author's Note: I hardly ever write Nick, since I suck at it. But I thought he deserved his own Grave Danger piece, so… I tried my best, Nick. Please don't hit me hard.

II

He sleeps in darkness. Not just the absence of light, but the presence of dark. Shadows stretch across his skin, leaving an invisible mark, scars on the inside of his skin. The scars on the outside will heal; he can feel the skin begin its slow work of patching already. Soon, perhaps no one will see where death clawed him and he'll feel the pain even more.

He itches and dreams of ice and water and wind anything but earth and those who crawl in it. He hears voices speak to him – his parents, Warrick, Sara, Catherine, Greg, Grissom…

Grissom. Grissom's voice seems an anchor to sanity and he clings to it, feeling the currents tear at him, but only rocking him, not drifting away.

He longs for the horizon, no walls, no roof, no box. Every room, every house, every human structure is a box and only the sky cannot trap him.

He tries to explain, tries to speak, but his voice feels of pain and he sleeps instead, dreaming of the earth's belly, eating him as a fine meal. He thinks he screams and the voices return, telling him it is over now, it is over, over.

It's only just started. He's not out yet.

"You're going to be fine, Mister Stokes," the doctor promises him and Nick thinks it a lie.

II

He sleeps and awakes and feels stronger. His mother clings to his hand; his father is a shadow across the room. The family that raised him and yet he suddenly longs for his other family, his other father. They might understand what his parents will not.

Death leaves a mark. It kills you even if you don't die and leaves the deepest scars within.

"Come home with us," his mother pleads.

"No," he says. "No. Home here."

"Oh, Nick," she whispers, clutching his hand so hard it hurts. "Promise me you'll come back to us."

He can't and he closes his eyes to her tears.

II

Warrick comes later, guilt wrapped around him, his voice hollow as he apologises for escaping Nick's fate. It feels almost as a shift of balance, even as he is scarred and in death's shadow, Nick is the stronger. Nick is the survivor.

"Not your fault," he says. Warrick doesn't look at him. "Not your fault."

"I won," Warrick whispers.

"No. Lost. Both lost. Even," Nick insists and closes his eyes to the pain he's not yet ready to fight. When he awakes, Warrick is asleep in the chair, hand clutching Nick's. Warm skin. Human skin, unscarred and as Nick rests his chin against it, he smells coffee and heat and a faint trace of dust.

He longs for a womb of sky and skin, the wind a lullaby, beckoning him into life again, all the pain still to come. And he cries, as a child would, as a newborn babe bereft of the womb's heat would. Cold. So cold.

He feels Catherine's hands touch his cheek, touch Warrick's arm, her eyes brimming with tears as she slowly wipes away his.

"It's going to be all right, Nick," she promises, mother's tone in her voice and he wants to believe her. 

II

Grissom and Sara come together and see him, both feeling awkward and each being almost a mirror of the other. They don't seem to be aware, as if it has become habit and no longer a rarity to be spotted. Grissom looks away, Sara looks away. Grissom touches, Sara touches.

Grissom talks and talks, as if a torrent of emotion has been let loose at last. He talks about being proud, about how well Nick does as a CSI, how far he's come, how the family is going to be reunited now even if he has to tie Ecklie down to accomplish it. Nick listens to the words that should mean so much to him and feels strangely empty. He's not ready to feel proud, to feel as the Nick he once was. Not enough light yet. Not enough light.

Sara talks too, her voice even as she assures him he will survive, that humans are strong and can carry even death's mark. And Grissom's hand rests on her knee, as if anchoring her too. Grissom bleeds, Sara bleeds.

"Thank you," he tells her and feels her demons in the room, their claw marks as shadows across her face.

"You're going to live, Nick," she assures him and he almost wants to believe her.

II

Greg stands in the doorway for a long time, face so calm it is a wall. What it traps inside, Nick doesn't know. 

"You look better," Greg says neutrally, no joke in his voice, even his hair flat.

"You don't."

A smile at that and finally he does walk in, sitting down on the bed.

"I tried to stay calm for you."

Nick nods; he doesn't know what else to do. They all seemed shamed in their own way, almost as if it would have been better if they all broke down in despair instead of managing to do their jobs. Maybe he'll convince them one day he doesn't blame them. Maybe he'll convince himself.

"We could see you, you know. In the box. On a live feed."

Nick closes his eyes, feeling the darkness seep back in, the box close in on him, the ants bite and bite and bite, this time within him. 

"Does it still hurt?"

"Yes," Nick replies, still eyes closed. "You know it does."

"Yes."

A silence, then Greg shifts and moves and Nick opens his eyes to see the younger man's back exposed, scars and lines running across it, the marks left by the lab's explosion. 

He traces the scars with a finger, feeling the violence of the burns as a faint echo of a flame against his skin. The skin is soft even so, healed as much as it can and still alive. Still alive. He presses a kiss to it, not quite sure why, perhaps in respect, perhaps in tribute, perhaps in wonder.

When Greg turns again, his face is softened, the wall crumbling.

"Now you've seen my scars," he says. "Show me yours."

II

They all come together one day, his family. Catherine, Warrick, Grissom, Sara and Greg, just before dawn. He can see they've worked a case, but he doesn't ask. He's not ready to be the CSI again, not yet. But he wants to be Nick again, wants to get out of the box and feel trapped no more.

"Take me outside," he pleads. "I need to get out, need to… See the sky."

They exchange glances and he feels their confusion and knows they can't understand that he's not out yet, can't understand unless they've been there and he doesn't wish that upon either of them.

"We'll take you outside," Greg says defiantly, more at Grissom than at him, will of steel. And Grissom nods, accepting.

They flash IDs and manage to lure him out, darkness retreating across the sky as they step out. He stands still for a moment, breathing in, breathing out, living, his skin healing, finding himself in the shadows.

He is Nick and he is alive and for a moment, it is all that matters as the flames lick him and the sun rises.

The others are watching the rise too, bathed in the yellow hue of the first rays of sun. Catherine has slipped her hand in Warrick's, Grissom's gaze seems to embrace Sara even as they stand apart. Family. His family. His life.

And a few steps away, Greg stands, the sunlight wrapping itself around him, as if drawn to his brightness. And Nick knows Greg has chosen the light even knowing darkness, even knowing scars.

Maybe he can too, Nick thinks. Maybe he can carry the scars without taking them with him.

"It'll heal," Greg says, eyes on him, as if knowing what he thinks.

"Yes," Nick says, taking a step forward and feeling Greg's hand on his shoulder, stepping into the womb of sky and skin to be reborn. "Yes, it will."


End file.
